//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 
// Story: Asylum 
// by Daemon of Decay 
//------------------------------//

	Asylum

Chapter 2

Twilight Sparkle slowly clawed her way back up from the void, struggling to pull her leaden mind up the slopes of darkness. A blizzard of pure black snow swirled around her like a heavy shroud. It was agony. Her naked body was disfigured by a cobweb of shallow cuts. Shards of frozen shadows flew viciously through the air to scour her flesh, the attacks defying the dead air’s unnatural stillness.

All she could do was shield her eyes as they sliced across her unprotected flesh, the cruel but bloodless wounds closing almost as soon as they were formed. It was as if a week’s natural healing was passing in just minutes. Instead of pain, each laceration left behind a numbness that seeped into her muscles. Her legs were lead, her lungs unresponsive.
 
The daggers of nothingness continued to dance through the air with savage glee as she pushed onwards. The silence was deafening. It was a snowstorm created from nothingness, with neither snow nor storm to its name, and it devoured any noises as easily as it was devouring her strength. The blizzard closed in around the solitary unicorn, a hungry pack of wolves circling a wounded animal.

The hunt was coming to an end.
 
Twilight continued to climb. The ground beneath her hooves rose up at a painfully steep angle. She risked unmasking her eyes so she could glance ahead and reassure herself she was still on target. It was still there. Warm relief halted the encroaching numbness for a few blessed moments, but it soon resumed its advance.
 
Above her was a bright point of light, strong enough to pierce the darkness attacking her. Nothing else could reach through the cloud of serrated shadows. The ground beneath her hooves – featureless stone devoid of any life – seemed as much a part of the storm as the icy tendrils sapping her energy. Nothing seemed to change, even as the void around her swirled and shifted. The darkness was as eternal as the ancient ruins of Saddle Arabia, and just as dead.
 
She grit her teeth and continued to put one hoof before another. The light was close; closer than it had been before. That simple fact gave her confidence, even as honeyed whispers promised an end to her suffering if she would just surrender. The void spoke without a voice, taunting her with her own doubts. She could taste how badly it wanted her to fail in its every sharp caress.
 
She struggled onward. She had to reach the light – that was all that mattered. It was all she could be sure of in the darkness. 
 
Twilight gasped and nearly halted when the light surged toward her without warning, soaring upwards and filling her field of vision like a mountain of burning gold. The light embraced her. For a single moment she resisted its touch. After an eternity spent drowning in shadows, the sensation of daylight was alien to her, but the moment Twilight felt the calming touch of it upon her flesh she knew it was nothing to be feared. She had found salvation.
 
Claws of ice stubbornly dug into her flesh, the void-born storm unwilling to release its grip, even as its form melted away. Shadowy limbs disintegrated beneath the warm touch of daylight. The storm began to flicker and dissipate as she was drawn closer to the sun, its insubstantial form unraveling like a ball of yarn in the paws of an energetic kitten.
 
She should be blind. Staring openly at the naked sun, part of Twilight marveled at the complete lack of pain. But she didn’t doubt the impossibility of the feat. The sun could never hurt her. She was its favored student, and it was her beloved mentor.
 
The void raged noiselessly as its prey escaped, desperately lashing out at her with tendrils of ink like an enraged cephalopod. Powerless before the overwhelming glory of the newborn sun they evaporated long before they reached Twilight. She failed to notice when the attacks finally ceased, the shards of nothingness unable to maintain themselves so close to the loving touch of light.
 
She was in no danger –  not anymore. How could she be? The sun was watching over her, a guardian and mother all at once. The light gently scooped her up and held her to its breast as if comforting a foal. Twilight melted in its soft grip.

Twilight’s eyes grew damp as she snuggled up against its maternal embrace. Her memories were a jumbled mess of terrifying images and confused emotions: dark cells of concrete and iron; an insect caught by a hungry spider; an endless maze; claustrophobia; a photograph. The last hurt the most, but she couldn’t remember why. She needed to unburden herself and tell the light about her nightmares, but words failed her. The sun didn’t have the same problem.
 
After an age spent trapped in silence even the smallest of sounds was a full orchestra of noise. Her ears swiveled slightly as she nuzzled the sphere of burning gas. It was a voice. The light was talking to her, it had to be! Like a kettle gently boiling atop a stove the hiss of spoken words gradually grew in volume, and Twilight strained to hear what the star had to say.
 
“… quickly, roll ... onto her side…”
 
Twilight frowned, the stallion’s voice not at all what she had expected from the nurturing star.
 
“… turn her head so – I said hold her legs! Grab them and hold them still!”
 
The unknown voice carried with it a sense of familiarity she couldn’t place. Despite being cradled in the burning limbs of a sun goddess’ avatar, she shivered.
 
“… not breathing. Doctor, there’s something…”
 
The mare’s voice caught Twilight by surprise. There was more than one pony talking. Where were they? Pressed up against the star Twilight’s vision was nothing but a solid wall of yellow-white light. She tried to call out to them but found herself as mute as before. Instead Twilight listened impotently, making out the brief flashes of conversation as best she could.
 
“… clear her mouth and get a breathing tube in…”
 
“… stop the bleeding. Silas, keep her head still while I scan…”
 
“… cleared the obstruction. Roy, is her pulse steady? Good, then give her twenty units…”
 
“… no fractures.”
 
“… just two more stitches and…”
 
“… an allergic reaction of some kind? Maybe…”
 
“… her onto the gurney. It’s almost over now, I reckon.”
 
“… back to her room. And stay with her until it wears off! We can’t risk another episode like…”
 
“… just two hours or so…”
 
“… call…”
 
No, come back! Twilight was desperate to hear more, but the voices didn’t heed her wishes and had soon faded away. Sheathed in silence once again, Twilight pondered whatever she had just overheard. The snippets she had managed to pick out were a jumbled mess. But the voices – they had sounded very urgent. They had mentioned stitches and… and bleeding. Twilight’s brow narrowed. Somepony might have been hurt.

Her concern drained away as fatigue wormed its way into her limbs. Twilight yawned. It had sounded important, but whatever it had been was over now.
 
Unable to hold open her eyes any longer she surrendered to the inevitable. Her legs grew heavy once again as a numbness swiftly spread across her torso, bringing back memories of the ebon shards of ice. It didn’t feel the same, though she couldn’t explain why. She curled up against the warm sun, letting the matter slip from her hooves. Thinking about that stuff was too hard.
 
She’d worry about it later. There wasn’t any rush.
 
Just a short nap…
 



 
Waking up took a lot longer the second time. There weren’t any searing lights to startle her out of her dreams this time, just the slow escape from a dreamless state.
 
It also hurt a lot more the second time around. Or more accurately, Twilight was hurting more when she finally managed to open her eyes. Her limbs were stiff and her muscles ached, feeling as though she had run a marathon in her sleep. A bandage marked the spot on her nose that throbbed with dull pain. Even her throat felt sore, a discomfort compounded by the acidic aftertaste of vomit. Her entire body was reluctant to obey her commands, feeling glacial and foreign – an ill-fitting dress crafted for a different pony.
 
It took a moment for the drab ceiling to register in through the thick fog around her thoughts. Hospital – I’m still at the hospital. Twilight let out a ragged sigh and closed her eyes again. Why can’t I just wake up from this nightmare?
 
“Oh, you’re awake!” a pony exclaimed, their surprise matching her own. A silver stallion poked his head into view above her. Regaining his composure he gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s good that you’re coming around. You’ve been asleep for a while now.” He lifted one of her legs as he spoke. “Just give me a minute and let me check your vitals, okay, Twilight?” With his mouth he pulled back the sleeve on his free leg, revealing a watch beneath the light green scrubs. Holding a hoof just beneath her own he monitored the small clock intently, taking her pulse.
 
Twilight croaked something indecipherable. She frowned as she tried to work some moisture into her mouth. Difficulty speaking was becoming a frequent and annoying part of her life, she considered. “What… happened?” she finally managed to ask, each word sandpaper against her throat.
 
“You had an episode in Doctor Rose’s office, Twilight. You had a seizure and took a little tumble when you passed out,” his eyes flickered to the bandage on her nose. “Thankfully it was nothing major. A few bruises, two or three stitches; that’s all." He released her leg. “And your vitals are doing just fine, so there shouldn’t be any problems there.”
 
Twilight tried sitting upright. Despite her exhaustion she managed to lift herself up a few inches, and regretted it instantly. Her stomach flip-flopped ominously as the walls began to spin and dance around her like drunken ballerinas. She fell back against the bed gratefully and closed her eyes against the rush of dizziness.
 
“Whoa now, you don’t want to start moving so soon,” he chided her gently. “The anesthetic is still wearing off. Just give it a minute. We don’t need you getting sick again, now do we?”
 
“They… knocked me… out?” she asked through gritted teeth, riding the waves of nausea like a small boat in a storm. The poor choice in metaphors didn’t help, she considered, just managing to keep her stomach’s contents in their rightful place.
 
“They had too, unfortunately. Your panic attack triggered some sort of reaction to your new treatments. We don’t like to use anesthetic when we don’t need it, but sometimes a patient is in danger of harming themselves, or preventing medical care.”
 
The spinning slowly ground to a halt, giving Twilight a chance to get off the vomit-inducing carousel. She had more questions for the stallion – where was she now? How long had she been out? Did everypony still think she was crazy? – but she had something more important on her mind.
 
“Water.”
 
“Oh! Sure thing, Twilight. Just stay still and keep breathing nice and deep, and I’ll be right back,” he said with another smile before disappearing.
 
Twilight did as instructed. Keeping her eyes closed, she let her other concerns recede while she focused on breathing. Her chest rose and fell with each deliberate breath. It was surprisingly effective, and by the time the stallion returned she didn’t feel as though her stomach was primed to explode any longer. The world had stopped its bilious dancing, and to her eternal relief it remained still while the doctor helped her up into a seated position.
 
She felt a sense of déjà vu as he brought the cup to her lips, her own hooves too weak and unsteady to do the job. The water was a godsend, washing away the taste of her own stale sick and relieving the ache of her dry throat. Watching him carefully feed her the water made Twilight realize just how much she missed not being able to use magic herself. It felt shameful being cared for like this – again.
 
At least it wasn’t a sippy cup this time.
 
“Feeling better now?” he asked once she had finished the rest of the water.
 
Twilight nodded. “Yes. Much better,” she said. Her voice, like the rest of her, was weaker than she would have liked, but she could already feel the life returning to her limbs. “Thank you, doctor…”
 
“Dreamer,” he finished, pushing some of the red hair out of his eyes.  “I’m the head of anesthesiology here at Broadhoof. Doctor Rose wanted me here in person so I could keep an eye on you. After what happened in his office, there were some worries about how well you might handle the sedatives. From what he told me you had some pretty severe side-effects to your treatment, so there were concerns over potential reactions.” He patted her shoulder as he put a few pillows behind her back, helping to prop her up. “Thankfully everything looks normal now, so you don’t need to worry about that any longer.”
 
Twilight tried to lift one of her hooves. She barely managed to bring it halfway up her chest before it grew too heavy. It fell limply beside her. “I don’t feel very normal,” she said quietly.
 
“Don’t worry; you just have to give your body time. It takes some time for the sedative to wear off. But you are going to feel pretty tender for a while, though. Seizures are never easy.”
 
Even as he spoke she could feel the sedative loosening its grip on her gradually, warmth and sensation returning to her body at a glacial pace. So he wasn’t lying about that, at least. Still, there was an icy pit forming in her stomach at the doctor’s words. She tried to ignore her memories of what had happened in that office, unprepared to deal with the pain so soon. “Could I get another glass of water?”
 
“Actually, if you wanted to wait a minute or two, I could get you something to eat, as well as some juice. Most of your breakfast, uh, ended up on Doctor Rose’s floor. So really, once the rest of your nausea wears off I bet you will get pretty hungry, pretty fast.”
 
Her stomach growled in agreement. “I, uh, would quite appreciate some lunch, thank you,” she said, failing to keep a faint blush from her cheeks. Despite what she had suffered through, she couldn’t help being mildly embarrassed. Some of her lessons on Canterlot etiquette were second-nature, no matter the circumstances. Her old cotillion teacher Miss Waltz would have died of shame, she was sure. Of course, Miss Waltz had been about as big a drama queen as Rarity – she would have died of shame if Twilight were seen eating the main course with a salad fork.
 
He told her he would be back soon as he set off in search of food. The door swung slowly shut behind him.
 
It wasn’t locked.
 
She was awake, unbound, and unobserved. This was it – this was her chance.
 
Twilight huffed and grunted as she tried to lift herself out of bed, but her body wasn’t responding. Her limbs were stone. She was sweating, gasping for air, and afraid the walls were going to start spinning at any moment – and had nothing to show for any of it but more exhaustion and the threat of further nausea. She surrendered to the inevitable and collapsed backwards, pounding her hooves against the bed in frustration.
 
“Even if you could get out of bed, what’s next? You’re not even strong enough to drink water unassisted, let alone manage an escape. You’re a librarian, not Daring Do,” she berated herself under her breath. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she considered taking out all her anger and irritation on the pillows. They were soft, defenceless, and within reach. She wanted to tear them apart and throw the remains across the room. It was pointless and unnecessary and violent and wasteful – but dammit, destroying something would make her feel better!
 
Twilight’s eyes widened in astonishment. What is going on with me? She had been grinding her teeth together so hard it had hurt, and it had still taken her a few seconds to register the pain. Her rage throbbed inside her like a second heartbeat, and she was amazed at how furious she had let herself become.
 
Closing her eyes she repeated her earlier breathing exercise, forcing her lungs completely full before exhaling. It was slow, but it worked. Reluctantly, her anger sank to the back of her mind. She could still feel it there, swimming beneath the surface of her thoughts like a prowling shark waiting for the chance to strike. She wouldn’t give it the opportunity. She was in control; no one else.
 
She let herself relax once she was confident another outburst wasn’t lurking around the corner. Twilight adjusted a pillow behind her, unable to explain her recent behavior. Her emotions had been out of control all day. Even though she had been thrown headlong into a frightening situation, it was no excuse for irrational behavior. She had to approach the problem with logic and reason. Trying to reach that door had been impulsive and stupid – she had known she wasn’t strong enough to manage it. Her frustrated outburst once she had failed the impossible had only made her more tired, more distracted, and more likely to screw up in the future.
 
She was acting like a reed in the wind, bending whichever direction her emotions were blowing. It ends now, she vowed silently.
 
She was Twilight Sparkle, the personal apprentice to Princess Celestia! She wasn’t a braggart or a show off, but she knew she was an intelligent mare. After all, while Applejack is stronger and Rainbow Dash is faster, she had beaten them both in a marathon by using her brain. She needed to think, to gather information, and to try and plan how she would get away.
 
There was a flicker of hesitation as she glanced at the unlocked door again, but Twilight pushed it aside. There would be another opportunity to escape, she was certain. She might be weak for the moment, but she still had the use of her mind. It was her only hope of making sense of this nightmare world.
 
Alone and immobile, Twilight settled for examining her surroundings carefully.
 
When she had dragged herself from the void of unconsciousness, she had assumed she was back in a cell like before. She had been mistaken. Although it shared the same cream and green paint scheme as the rest of the hospital, it was a distant cry from the frightening cage she had been imprisoned in. For a start, the room wasn’t so small that she could touch all four walls at once. Also important was the complete lack of restraints on the bed.
 
Twilight smiled humorlessly. She had never imagined herself judging a room by that sort of criteria.
 
It was difficult to picture the room as being part of the same hospital as those sterile cells. It had warmth and personality. Along the wall opposite her bed sat a desk and a sizeable bookcase, both of which were almost buried beneath a mountain of scrolls and books and assorted scraps of parchment. She panned her eyes around the room as it dawned on her that it wasn’t the only bookshelf, either. Not by a long shot.
 
What few bits of wall could be seen in the gaps between the vast assortment of bookshelves were themselves obscured beneath ledges, the wooden shelves attached directly to the bare wall.  It was haphazard at best. None of the furniture matched, the shelves were all of different lengths, the wood was chipped and worn, and many of the cabinets bore the tape-and-glue scars of untrained carpentry. The only thing in the room that didn’t look like it was held together by spit and duct tape was the bulky hospital bed she was resting in.
 
Twilight felt like she was stuck in Equestria’s smallest and most depressing used-furniture store. And it was going out of business.
 
The only unifying element Twilight could see – beyond all the furniture being fit for the garbage dump – were the books themselves. Every single inch available was occupied by some book or scroll; no space was wasted. Books were stacked precariously like houses of cards. One shelf had so many rolls perched atop it she feared it might topple over if she exhaled loudly. The wooden shelves all positively groaned beneath the burden of the small library.
 
The books were like the furniture: worn and well-used. But her experienced librarian’s eye could recognize the care and logic behind their arrangement. The books were organized as best they could be, given that the shelves weren’t level and the furniture barely hung together. Finding space for them all had evidently been the top priority, but whoever had organized their books had done so with a scholarly dedication Twilight found most agreeable. Perhaps they had been trying to emulate Doctor Rose’s impressive office?
 
She smiled at the idea, finding the room was unexpectedly cozy. The small size didn’t bother her. It was much bigger than her cell had been. It was even a little bigger than her dorm back at school – and would have been bigger still if not for the bookshelves taking up a good portion of the available floor space. It was small but certainly not claustrophobic, and brought to mind the best memories she had of her home back in Ponyville. Its inviting warmth was both familiar and relaxing, like an old blanket brought down from the attic on a cold winter night.
 
No, she had been wrong – this room wasn’t depressing at all. Even the worn and mismatched collection of furniture had a scrappy make-do attitude to it. The room’s regular occupant had been determined to make the best of their situation.

Twilight sat up a little straighter and pursed her lips together firmly in an expression of determined resolve. If a real patient at the hospital could stay positive and continue to struggle against whatever was afflicting them, then she could do the same. She savored the firm confidence like a mug of fresh cider. It was a welcome change from the morning’s unrelenting bouts of fear and confusion.
 
By the time Doctor Dreamer returned, Twilight couldn't deny that she was feeling much better. The comfortable surroundings had been a balm for her frazzled nerves, and the anesthetic had faded away – although, like he had said, even after regaining most of her strength she still felt quite fatigued. And quite hungry, she realized, as the scent of food elicited another growl from her stomach.
 
She tore into the simple daisy sandwich with relish, halting in between mouthfuls only long enough to gulp down the orange juice. The bread was dry and the juice wasn’t fresh, but she was starving. The stallion chuckled as she devoured the sandwich. “A healthy appetite is a good sign. It means the sedative is almost entirely worn off. So, are you feeling better? Any headaches or continued dizziness?”
 
Twilight shook her head as she cleaned some of the crumbs off of her muzzle. “No sir, nothing like that. I have been… no, I’m feeling fine. Much better, thanks.” She wasn’t going to tell the doctor about her mood-swings – they didn’t need to start thinking there actually was something wrong with her. Biting into her sandwich she gestured at the room with one hoof. “Why am I here instead of the room I woke up in? Aren’t I supposed to be crazy?”
 
There was a disapproving look at her deliberate word choice, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he paused in thought. “Oh, that’s right. You were starting a new treatment recently, so they must have put you in one of the secure rooms for the night. They’re used to restrain any pony that might physically act out.”
 
“What, like attacking the staff?”
 
“That can happen,” he said with a serious expression. “But more often they are reactions like your own: spasms, sudden seizures, or panic attacks, which are compounded by current illnesses. We restrain our patients if they are at risk, so if there is a problem, we can provide care quickly. It’s a safety precaution, for the patients as much as the staff.”

He examined one of the bookshelves beside him. “Our long-term patients get private quarters like yours. They’re much more comfortable, don’t you think? It’s better for patients to have a small space of their own, somewhere that they can relax and have a modicum of privacy. And, considering how upset you were earlier, we thought it best if you had a chance to wake up in your own room instead.”

Twilight paused mid-bite. “My own room?” she asked, her voice muffled by the sandwich in her mouth.

Evidently the doctor didn’t hear her. Dreamer chuckled as he continued to walk along the crowded wall. “I’m always surprised at how many books you managed to fit in here. I swear, you’ve got your own personal library. And some of these books are pretty advanced.” He plucked one from a shelf – careful to keep from causing a structural collapse in the book pile it was in – and glanced at the cover.

The faded lettering was barely visible, but Twilight didn’t need to read the title to identify which book he was examining. A Treatise on Pre-Equestrian Arcane Manipulation (2nd Edition), by Night Cap the Elder. It was worn and battered, but its identity was clear to her.

“Twilight, you’re quite a smart filly. I doubt I’d understand half the words in there,” he said with a smile, returning the book to its slot on the wall. She suppressed the twinge of annoyance his false smile extracted from her. It was the same smile every doctor and nurse seemed to wear when dealing with her. It was likely a part of their bedside manner, something to put patients at ease, but the insincerity grated on her nerves.

“I’m not a filly,” she grumbled sourly. The room had betrayed her. The warmth and sense of determination she had detected was just another carefully constructed illusion to further their lies. The whole hospital mirrored his smile: falsehoods engineered to provoke a desired emotional response. 

“Oh, course you’re not, Twilight,” he said with mock humbleness. 

If she hadn’t been keeping a tight grip on her emotions she would had hurled her cup at him. Condescending bastard. They all were. Instead she paused to swallow some more juice, not trusting herself to speak until she knew she was back in full control. She sated her anger by giving the doctor a glare meant to melt steel.

“So, what is this ‘treatment’ I keep hearing about?” she asked, changing the subject before she did something she might regret. “The doctors and nurses here keep talking about me supposedly starting some sort of new program, but no one has said a lot about what it really is.”
 
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know much,” he said, looking faintly uncomfortable. “That is Doctor Rose’s area of expertise. All our treatments are a mix of therapy, medication, and magic, if that helps. I don’t know the specifics of your treatment history well enough to give you the details on it.” His expression brightened. “Speaking of Doctor Rose, guess who I ran into while getting you lunch?”

Twilight stared back at him as the silence lengthened. He doesn’t really expect me to answer him, does he?

He continued to look at her expectantly. He does.

“Who?” Twilight exhaled through her teeth, trying to unclench her jaw. She eyed her cup again, measuring how effective it would be as a projectile.

“Doctor Rose! He was very happy to know you were starting to come too, by the way. He was pretty worried, after how upset you got back in his office. Since you are still struggling to remember everything–”
 
“I remember everything just fine,” she interjected darkly.
 
“–he suggested,” he continued over her, “that one of the best ways to help you get some of your memories back was to let you spend some time with a more familiar face. So we made arrangements for one of your friends to come by after you had finished your lunch. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?” he smiled at her.
 
Twilight coughed as orange juice went down the wrong pipe. Friend? Could her friends have figured out where she was? Despite everything Twilight had suffered through that morning, the word lit a candle of hope within her breast. But Twilight clamped down on her hope firmly, unwilling to lose control of her emotions. It was becoming a chore, guarding her emotions so, but she didn’t have any other choice. She wasn’t going to let her emotions rule her.
 
“My friend?” she asked doubtfully, holding her optimism back with an iron hoof of skepticism. False hope wasn’t going to hurt her again. “Who is it, one of the patients I am supposed to have known? Maybe some other pony you think is sick too?”
 
“No, she’s a doctor, actually. Doctor Rose thinks that because of your condition, you’ll just have to wait to see your other friends,” he explained as he walked over to the door. “Now I know you don’t remember much, Twilight, but we think that if you just sit and talk with her for a while, it might help bring back some of your memories. After all, you have spent a lot of time with her over the past two years.”
 
Not one of my friends, then. Like an old candle, the sliver of hope she had allowed herself to hold onto flickered out and died. She snorted. They expected her to believe that she was friends with one of her captors?
 
Dreamer pushed his head out into the hallway. “Okay, you can come on in now.”
 
“We don’t have to do this if she isn’t ready for it,” the unseen mare said with quiet apprehension. “I don’t want to provoke another attack. The one in Valentino’s office was pretty darn frightening. Wouldn’t it be better to just let her rest a little longer? I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her.”

A snake of frigid apprehension slithered up Twilight’s spine and jammed its fangs into her heart, a venom of cool dread seeping into her veins. She knew that voice. The accent wasn’t as strong as she remembered, but it was unmistakable. It couldn’t be anypony else. She knew that voice!
 
“Don’t be absurd. Until Twilight comes to terms with what’s going on, she’s in risk of relapsing. I was there when it happened the last time, A.J., and it wasn’t pretty,” Dreamer said in an urgent whisper, failing to keep his words from reaching Twilight’s ears. “It’s better if she meets you in the comfort of her own room. And Valentino was pretty insistent in reminding us that the longer she goes without remembering, the worse it will be.”
 
Please don’t be her, please don’t be her, please don’t be her. Twilight repeated the words in her head like a protective mantra meant to ward off evil. A cold tightness gripped her chest, and she struggled to breath. Sweat prickled her brow. It was as if she were being presented with that terrible photograph all over again. It was waiting for her, just out of sight.
 
“Yeah, I guess it would just be putting off the inevitable,” the mare sighed reluctantly.

“Well then, come on in and say hello!” Dreamer said, unnecessarily raising his voice for Twilight’s benefit. Holding the door open for the other doctor, he stepped back to make room. The empty doorframe yawned wider in Twilight’s mind, the maw of some hungry beast eager to devour what was left of her emotional stability. Knowing what awaited her on the other side made the fear even worse. There was no room for self-delusion. She couldn’t convince herself that she might be mistaken, or that it could be a different mare.

Twilight knew who it was, and she knew exactly what was going to happen, yet still she couldn’t look away. Her eyes were locked on the doorway like a wingless pegasus watching the ground rushing up to meet her. She was forced to sit and watch and wait, her muscles frozen in place by the cold venom in her blood. She couldn’t even remember blinking.

She just stared, her heart a lump of ice, as an orange mare in a lab coat strode into the room.
 
“Well hey there, sugarcube!” Applejack said to Twilight cheerfully.